In the throne room, Alex witnesses the humiliation of his fiancée Lucía at the hands of Iván, a servant and former soldier, while struggling with his own lust and shame.
The throne room was a circular void of black marble veined with gold; the torches cast waves of fiery light upon the jasper columns, making the afternoon seem eternal. Alex had reclined against the ebony back of his imperial seat; the sapphire crown weighed heavy on his temple, almost like a cruel joke reminding him at every moment of his lack of real power. Beside the dais, barely covered by a veil of ivory gauze, lay Lucía, his fiancée since childhood, the first wife he had never touched. Her hands were interlaced over her lap, she bit her lower lip, and her shoulders trembled to the beat of a fear she did not dare confess.
One of the servants, Iván, had just entered without asking permission: a broad-shouldered young former soldier wearing a tattered shirt open to the navel and the sweat of the courtyard imprinted on his skin. He brought a tray of wine and fruit but set it on the floor halfway; his eyes settled on Lucía with a greed so clear that even the torches seemed to flicker. Alex felt a cold heat run down his spine; his hand rested on the golden brooch of his cape, ready to order an arrest, but the command dissolved between his lips when a pang of lust struck him. If he gave the command, the scene would end; if he remained silent, perhaps he would see how far a commoner's audacity could go.
Iván knelt before the maiden, slid his fingers across the tip of her chin, and forced her to look at him. She flinched, her cheeks flushing a pink so vivid they seemed to burn. Alex pressed his nails against the arm of the throne: Lucía's shame excited him more than any whisper of flattery. The servant brushed his lips against the young woman's ear and spoke so low that the echo carried it back to the throne:
—Open your legs, milady. The emperor wants to see what you know how to hide between them.
Lucía whimpered incomprehensible excuses, but Iván had already stood up; he gripped her by the shoulders and tilted her back onto a damask pillow he found at random. To Alex, the sight produced a delicious dizziness: his wife's robe fell open to her waist, revealing pale skin, a belly taut with agitated breathing, and at the vertex of her thighs, a dark tuft barely hid the slit he had never dared to explore.
Iván lowered his linen breeches, and his cock sprang into the hot air: long, thick, with a heavy vein tracing the shaft. He knelt between Lucía's trembling knees and rested the head against her labia, barely brushing them, smearing himself with the fear the girl distilled. Alex noticed his own breathing becoming short; without thinking, he untied the cinch of his cape, opened his breeches, and pulled out his member, already stiff, understanding he would be a mere spectator.
—Calm down, highness —the servant murmured as he pushed the tip inside—, it's only flesh against flesh.
Lucía let out a muffled groan; her virginity surrendered with a moist heat that seeped along Iván's shaft like an invitation. She squeezed her eyes shut, tears rolling toward her temples, but she offered no resistance; her hands gripped the carpets and searched, almost by instinct, for something to anchor her. Alex felt that gesture like a hook to the heart: her need to be held while another possessed her was rawer than any sword.
Iván did not stop at the fragile wall; he sank to the hilt with a grunt of triumph. The throne creaked as Alex sat up, cock in hand, stroking himself to the rhythm of the thrusts. The servant pulled the girl's hips until she was on top of him; while she teetered there sitting, he leaned back on his elbows and ordered her:
—Move your firm little ass, milady. Squeeze with that new little cunt and tell me who hurts you.
Alex saw how Lucía's anus puckered and relaxed with every jolt, how her own sex opened and closed around the foreign shaft. The contrast of pale flesh against Iván's tanned skin formed an obscene painting that was seared into his memory. He began to caress himself with more momentum, the head moistening with pre-cum that fell onto his gloved nails; the humiliation of not being the one to deflower his wife was a poison so sweet he feared losing himself in it.
Then Iván, without withdrawing for even an instant, sat up, slapped Lucía's buttocks, and shouted:
—Bring me wine and meat! I am hungry while I eat the empress!
A lackey, caught between stunned and excited, approached with a tray; Iván pierced a piece of boar with a dagger, brought it to his mouth, and continued pushing his cock into Lucía's narrow vagina, who sobbed with ragged breaths. Wine trickled down his chin and fell onto the young woman's breasts, soaking the gauze until her erect nipples were marked beneath the fabric.
Alex could take no more; he rose from the throne and walked toward the couple in a trance. He knelt to one side, the silk of his cape forming a dark puddle around his knees. He reached out, sought Lucía's trembling palm, and squeezed it; she opened her eyes, looked at him as if seeing her last oasis, and squeezed back firmly, returning the grip. In her gaze was a landscape of pain, shame, and something deeper: a confession that her body, despite everything, was flushing with pleasure.
—I'm sorry —Alex whispered, not knowing who it was directed to.
Iván heard him and mocked; he buried his cock to the balls, making Lucía's pubis slam against his bones. Then he turned his face toward the emperor and spoke with his mouth full:
—You squeeze your cock, majesty, but you don't squeeze this wet ass. Look at how she devours it all.
Saying this, he laid Lucía on her side, lifted one of her legs, and began to pump savagely; her anus, previously barely touched, tensed and relaxed, forming a wet ring that widened with every withdrawal. The girl let out a sharp "Ah!" that bounced off the vaults, more of incredulity than pain, as if her own pleasure surprised her. Alex leaned in, kissed her wrist, then her cheek, and when Iván turned her back toward him, he could see her cunt open, glistening with sweat and semen, pulsing to the beat of a heart that was not his own.
The tension in the emperor's balls was unbearable; he stood up, paced once more around the scene, his cock out, his hand moving with fury every time the servant shouted. Iván, sweating profusely, held his breath, dug his fingers into Lucía's hips, and filled her with a thrust so deep it lifted her from the floor; she released a series of broken moans, her body convulsing in her first orgasm, her mouth open in a circle of shock. Alex watched her tremble while the other man's cock throbbed inside, and in 그 second he heard the snap of his own ecstasy: a buzzing in his ears, a hot stream that shot from him and splashed the marble feet of the imperial throne.
When Iván's pulse ceased, he slowly withdrew his member; a thin string of whitish sperm slid from Lucía's slit and formed a small pool on the carpet. The girl lay exhausted, her thighs trembling, her face hidden between her arms. Alex reached out to stroke her hair, but Iván beat him to it; he leaned down and whispered something into the empress's ear with a husky, stealthy voice. Lucía opened her eyes, looked at Alex and then at the servant; in her expression floated a question that no one dared to formulate.
The silence that fell was so thick the torches seemed to go out. Alex, his cock still semi-erect and dripping, wondered if the crown he wore weighed more than the shame he felt. Power, he thought, sometimes required witnessing what he had never wanted to possess. And yet, while Iván wiped himself with satisfied smirks and Lucía regained her breath, the emperor could not help but wish the night was only beginning. He tucked his cock back into the damp fabrics, squeezed his wife's hand once more, and waited, with his stomach in knots, for the next chapter of his own humiliation.